“They’ll pay for it, though--these damned madmen and their masters--they’ll pay for it to the uttermost farthing! Cursed be of God, these sons of hell!” The Government in London must make reprisals. They must destroy a thousand German children for every British child that had been destroyed! Mona tries first to appease and then to reprove him. What good will it do the poor dead children in London that other children in Germany, now living in the fulness of their childish joy, should be massacred? “The children are innocent....” “Innocent? They’ll not be long innocent. They’ll grow up and do the same themselves. Oh my God, do Thou to them as with the Midianites who perished at Endor, and became as the dung of the earth!” “Hush! Hush! Father! Father!” “Why not? What’s coming over thee, woman? What’s been happening downstairs to change thee?” At that word Mona feels as if a sword has pierced her heart, and she hurries out of the room. After a while the mother-instinct in her comes uppermost. Her father is right. To make war on children is the crime of crimes. The people who do such things must belong to the race of the devil. That evening she is crossing to the “haggard” when she meets Oskar Heine coming out of his compound. She does not look his way, but he stops her and speaks. “You’ve heard what’s in the papers?” “Indeed I have.” “I’m ashamed. I’m sorry.” “Never mind about sorry. Wait until the same is done to your own people, and then we’ll see, we’ll see.” He is about to tell her something, but she will not listen, and goes off with uplifted head. A week passes. Mona has seen nothing more of Oskar Heine. Being free to come and go as he likes, he must be keeping out of her way. She is feeling less bitter about that shocking thing in London. After all, it was war. It is true that all the victories of war are as nothing against the golden head of one darling child, but then nobody sees that now. Nobody in the world has ever seen it--nobody but He.... “_Suffer the little children to come unto me...._” But only think! That was said two thousand years ago, and yet ... and yet.... Christmas is near, the third Christmas. Mona reads in the newspaper that it has been agreed by the Marshal and generals commanding on both sides of the Western Front that there shall be a four hours’ truce of the battlefields on Christmas Eve. How splendid! A truce of God in memory of what happened two thousand years ago! Why couldn’t they have it in the camp also? She suggests the idea to Oskar. “Glorious! Why can’t we?” he says. He will find a way to put the matter up to the Commandant, and then he will speak to the prisoners. Since the prisoners have been set to work they have been living a more human life in their amusements also. Every compound has its band. The guards have their band, too. Mona hears from Oskar that the Commandant consents. “It’s Christmas! God bless me, yes, why not?” he says.